Our closet has become quite a beast in the past few years. It overflows with suitcases, old shoes, hats, papers, and plastic bins filled with stuff; physical evidence of our past six years and some change. Recently, I made it my life’s goal to start cleaning out “the beast”. I read somewhere that the act of hoarding can be comforting, but can also create a cluttered mind and a cluttered life. Who wants a cluttered anything? Not me, I thought. My in-laws pride themselves on having the cleanest home in the world. I remember the first time I walked into their house it was like a museum. Spotless. I was afraid to sit on their plastic covered furniture. My house growing up was very warm and “lived in”. There were three young children living within those walls, and man, did it show. Bless my dear mom for trying her best to keep it organized, but growing up it was filled to the brim with toys, family pictures, and sports schedules. I kept a lot of my school projects, pictures I painted, and of course, my old diary. So what happens when a boy who grew up in a mausoleum meets and marries a girl who grew up in a happy mess? A bit of chaos. A lot of bickering about cleaning, straightening, what goes and what stays. But as I stood in front of our closet, with a giant plastic trash bag in hand, ready to throw out anything and everything in sight, I was overcome with emotion, and out of nowhere tears filled my eyes. Ticket stubs from concerts and Lakers games past, old keychains and wallets, all kinds of trinkets, and even a hotel bill from that time we traveled to NYC during Christmas. This stuff was us. Our memories. The story of how two people, so young and so incredibly in love, got to where they are today. I won’t throw our past away for all the non-clutterness in the world. I’m sorry. Call me a hoarder. Call me messy. Call me whatever you want. I promise I’ll go to the Container Store and attempt to organize the clutter. But the contents of those plastic bins are coming with us.